


Valentine, Over the Line

by ImpOfPerversity



Category: Baroque Cycle - Neal Stephenson, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: 1 Sentence Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-13
Updated: 2005-02-13
Packaged: 2018-10-23 13:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpOfPerversity/pseuds/ImpOfPerversity
Summary: Three sprawling sentences narrated by the Imp





	1. Valentine

Ain't no arrows stuck in Sparrow, no, nor in JackmyJack, for surely sure I ain't that plumpsome little cherub put out in painterly pictures, all fluffy wings and babyface and chucklesome cheeks and softsoft swell of flesh, oh no, no goddess-bastard brat flapping and fussing round every cooing couple and pinning 'em through their fat little red hearts with pretty golden darts, o no not I; I've no bow, no bolts, no barbs, but tooth and claw and spine and horn all needle-sharp to stab and strike; I've clutchy fingerlets to hold on tight to any precious pretty prey I pick, and wit to pick the primest, and o this pair are prizes both, and mine all mine save that they're one another's: o look at fancy Jack Sparrow with his gleam and shine and gold and smile, all pieced together like some grand design and glimmery-flimmery 'nough to draw the tiredest eye, eh? ain't it so? and what's the use resisting, eh, when that wicked black Sparrowgaze lights on a fine face, like o my darling my own Jack, all blond hair and sunny skin and brightlight smile and blueblue eyes like this broad Pacific below our boat and all around, like the big blue up above, and Jack's keen stare ain't aimed at sea nor sky, not on sail or stay, not on black deck or black mast or black canvas, o no, it's fixed on SparrowJack's black pitchy eyes, all full o' light they are, all glowy and sinny and full of everything he thinks and feels and knows 'bout my Jack, brimmy with badness, and no matter that the hot gold coin sun is beating beaming down on 'em, no matter that dark secret lover's night's still hours and aches and leagues away, he's looking at my Jack like he's reading a whole library of love-notes and billets-doux and stained pages of sweet filthy tales to set the blood a-seething; o the promises in that look that clever black Jack look, and my Jack's not backward 'bout the matter neither, o feel the surge an' rush of his juices just 'membering the morn, the toothsome two of 'em all tangled together, Jack-on-Jack, Jack-in-Jack all deep and tight and furnace-fiery, setting off sparks in every shiny speck of blood and bone and sinew and skin: all mixed and fixed and spliced and spicy with their own two selves, JackJack pushing every bit of him tongue fingers half-a-cock into SparrowJack's mouth arse hand while Jack Sparrow holds my darling hard and fucks him good and true and deep, and he's all tight and shimmery in the morning light and sweaty twitchy sore with the gladsome toil of it, so far inside that I can feel it up against the sooty smitten root of me, and Jack's own crimson crowing heart leaps and bounds in its bone-cage as I leap and bound around about the knot of 'em, propelled by my Jack's joy and all uplifted by the rapture of my love and his love; an' if that downy-winged fool flaps his silly soppy self in here somehow, maybe cast up by some boisterous storm onto black ship-deck, he'd cover up his blue-jelly eyes for shock and shame and sheer green envy, an' I'd nip and snip and sip and grip and rip him into little bits, for sure as sureness this is Love, here in this space that ain't no space betwixt these two, an' stupid Cupid knows it not, and fears it fierce for it ain't nothing to do with pretty pointy arrows, but only blood and seed and spit and eye-beams, and o my darlings all bound up together, all tied into one another like the nobbly knots the men make up above to hold the air, all there close as can be and calling out to one another _Jack o Jack o now, love, now_ as though there's any other in the whole wide watery world who might mistaken claim this pleasure for himself instead: and now all morning later, still they're joined out here on the shippety-ship's hot black deck for all the world to see, no matter that they ain't touching, for my Jack's scarry sunscorched skin's still sticky with Jack Sparrow's pearly creamy jism, an' he's all aching and burning from the stretch of Sparrow in _oh Jack oh yes, go on, jus' there, I c'n take it, give it me_ my greedy grabby happy Jack who's satisfied and not, who wants more and all and everything from limitless Jack Sparrow, who wants him now, and in an hour, and _in_ ; who pulls him with his eyes from the helm -- some nameless Impless one can take it, see'f they care, my darlings! -- and down below to that small pungent place they sleep and wake in, who hauls Sparrow all hard and quick up 'gainst himself and kisses him all promissory, who sets his warm wide hand to Sparrow-cock and next his wet wide mouth and I can taste him taste them both on his snaky sneaky tongue as I dance and dally 'round 'em, no room to fit 'less flattened between JackmyJack and my Jack's love as close they press and close closer closest; wait, Jack Sparrow's stepping back, away, and though Jack knows he can't go won't go far he reaches out, and SparrowJack catches him close again and rolls him down to the mussed musky bed of theirs, and strips him all bare and adores him with his mouth his hands his heart his head his whole, till my Jack's crying and twisting and laughing and groaning and coming all undone 'round Jack Sparrow, who's twisting and tasting and tasted at once, who's fucking that lovely greedy red mouth and fucking Jack's arse with his long lewd licked fingers and fucking Jack's half-cock with his cunning sucklesome tongue and fucking all of my Jack every way with every hot living feeling part of his self: and Jack's all quick and slick and clever with his hands, o Cupid would spew at the sight of his slippy hand fingering and fiddling and fitting deep and tight in Jack Sparrow, and Sparrowbraids all shivery-slidy 'cross my Jack's belly as he shakes and quakes with it and o the bubbling doubling sugary-salt sweet of their joining-joy, good enough to eat drink breathe and I gobble all up just as JackmyJack swallows his share down and curves up and spurts Jack Sparrow's share straight and true to his vivid vermilion heart: and then they're lying quiet together, touching everywhere they can, murmuring so soft and sweet that even I can't hear 'em, and my bright black heart'd break for the loss of my JacketyJack if I hadn't won myself another Jack to share with him, share him with, shiny and Sparrowy and rich and strange with wit and wickedness, and to keep heartwhole it seems as I must love Jack Sparrow too -- o woe, ha ha, nay glee I mean! -- for all the joy he brings my darling.


	2. Line

Long ago and far away, I 'mind me my Jack an' me at that players' place, slid in all sneaky and slipp'ry to see the show; my Jack he had an eye for a lass up on the stage, he did (a scrawny yellow-haired slip of a bitch), and so he must see this friv'lous phant'sy played out day after day 'til she took note of him; and by that time he knew each lilty line of it, and so did I too: and all of it came to naught, to tricks and tears and trials and tribulations, and JackmyJack all nimble and quick and legging it out of there like the devil himself were after him, and not just that sly wench's bedfellow: but he laughed about it soon enough, and laughed about it more as time and distance did their dreamy fade: and soon 'nough all we were left with, he and I, was that play we'd seen over and over, many a time: and Jack's mind-play was all moth-ate and sieved and dusted over before long, with the Pox a-gnawing at his squishy skull-meats and the overlay of each flimmery glimmery night, each long dry day, all layered o'er it; but I 'member it clear and clearer, every la-di-da rump-de-tump line of it, and in that play there was an Imp who swore he'd set a girdle 'round the Earth, which is frippery foolishness for the world's not round, else Jack'd meet himself coming back by now, and phant'sy that eh phant'sy that, two JackmyJacks for Sparrow to choose, two of 'em to set on him and see him right, o what doubled fun for my dear -- though a single one of my love's love, that Sparrow-Jack, is 'nough an' a feast -- but anyway see, see, the world's one long straight road or you'd meet yourself whene'er you went yea far from home: but my Jack's home is here now, anyways, and thus (for I'll not leave him, not go from sight of where he is) mine own, this floaty flimsy shell of wood and hemp and cloth, all seething with little lives and my Jack and his Jack: aye, and his Jack, as b'lieves he has answers for all and every question, says that this pearly Pearl, this shiply ship, is set to cross some Line, some girdle round the Earth; and though I mock and knock and dance and prance he sees me never, and my Jack blinks and winks and shakes his head and bids this Sparrow spin his yarny tales of Lines and Maps and Equators, and then, ha ha, of fishy-scaled gods in the sea, of titty mermaids with open-wide mouths -- and o my Jack's lovely and lovely when he's down like that, mouth all round 'round Sparrowcock, drinking him down, askin' whether any slutty mermaid ever did him so good, eh, and Jack Sparrow's all gold and bright and light coming off and out of him every inch, and kissing and c'ressing my Jack and making him all shiny-sweaty too, and doing unto, 'til they both lie all still'n'warm, and into the still Sparrow says, "There's a Ceremony, Mr Shaftoe, for those who come all virgin to the Line their first time South -- or North, as it might be -- and, aye, I know you're no virgin in ... in all those other ways: for, Jack, you may e'en recall my unburdening you of that condition in at least one respect, and if you don't then p'rhaps you'd like me to remind you?" and my Jack's all wicked and don't need no whisper from me, but his blueblues are round and wide and he's swearing, "Jack, I don't know what you can mean, you'd better tell me plain now," and for a moment Sparrow's dark witchy eyes are all slitty and glitt'ry, but then that great wide hand of his is wriggly on my Jack's infamous half-a-cock, and Jack can't help himself, no, he must push up into that shivery shimmery touch, and SparrowJack laughs and says, "no blushing virgin now, eh, mate?" and Jack grins and says, "'part from I ain't crossed this Line of yours," and Sparrow says don't fear it don't, there's naught to fear; we'll be South by nightfall, aye, an' 'twill all be done": and then they must a-deck again, and my Jack's dozy in the top, and I doze with 'im and don't mind where Sparrow gets to: and then, and then, there's all commotion, "we're South!" and "Equator!" and "a Toast to his Pelagic Majesty!" and I sweep and swoop and skim and loop all swallowy but there ain't no ribbony Line and there ain't no scaly-sleek God neither, only old Stone got up in ten quids' worth of silk and pearls, and that sly quean Pope grinning fit to turn the milk (save we're all at sea and miles from any milkmaid): turns out my Jack's the only man who's never crossed this not-a-Line, and here o here comes SparrowJack, all fuliginous and fulgent, and what's that in his hand all long and sharp and swordy for he means it for my Jack; "I've something for you," he murmurs in my Jack's ear where he's held a mite too tight by a couple of the lads, all in play, aye, but my Jack's no meek maid, and he's given good as he got, and there's a bit of nose-blood pinking the seawater, aye; and Jack grins at Sparrow, and says loud enough for all to hear, "and what might that be, Captain?", and there's a happy rioty noise for they love my Jack near as well as he deserves, though not as well as darkling Jack Sparrow, who whispers now all ear-near and warm, "'tis only a needle for now, Jack, while we're here with all the company; but I've something more substantial for you later," and Jack Shaftoe, all bright-eyed and with Stone's rum trickling down his stubbly stubborn jaw, says, "I pray you'll not mistake which point goes where," and JackmyJack don't wince or flinch as Stone and Pope catch hold and clamp him tight, and Jack Sparrow all seriosity takes his sharp daggery darning-spike and sucks it into his rum-spilling mouth, and then looks so intense at my Jack that there's no room for me, no room at all between 'em, and I hear nothing but I know there's something said: and then my Jack's blue eyes widen, and there's metal through him piercing him wounding him transfixing -- and then the steel's drawn from his ear and there's gold stitched through instead, and SparrowJack catches that single rubyred drop of my love on his finger, and licks it off all slow: Stone and Pope turn back to fishes for all I see, for my Jack's marked and ringed with gold, and his eye and his heart and the heat in his belly are all on Jack Sparrow as SparrowJack takes his hand and leads him down, down into the ship-depth: and I, forgotten I, am drawn, after.


	3. Over the Line

O here they are, my darling pair; o haste and hurryhurry, fast as my Jack's quicksilver notions they go, quick as the trickle of his sticky red blood down his neckety neck from where that shinyshine goes through; rush and push 'gainst one another 'long all the longlong passages and ways of this fine great galleon, 'til they're alone (save me, save only me all flickering fuligin shadow in the black black corners of their cabin, with me beady eyes bright as SparrowJack's smile and just as fixed on JackmyJack) and Sparrow's saying, oh, he's saying "love" and "want" and "have to have you, Jack, I do, right soon," and Jack's all golden and glowing -- that's the sun he's brought in with him, under his skin -- and dazzling and beaming and basking in Jack Sparrow's shiny smile, and he stretches out more and lolls over the chair-back, all loose-limbed and open-mouthed for Jack Sparrow's kiss and c'ress and clutch, oh yes: that fresh glinty gold in my Jack's ear marks him as Sparrow's, and still it sends a thrum of needly feeling right through every nerve and bone and blood-drop in Jack's body, and Jack he knows it's compass-needle, branding-iron, promissory note and coin of the realm: o yes, and the Crown Jewels, King Solomon's Ring, Achilles' Sword, the True Cross what we saw at Southwark Fair; and all of those are paste and paper before the pretty pulsing realness of the ring in Jack's poor sore pierced-through ear, that shiny circle all 'tuned and turned to Sparrow; it makes Jack his (and makes me sad, for JackmyJack's no longer mine: but o the sight of them together, o my Jack's smile, o his heart all crimson gold!), it marks Jack his, it promises that Sparrow's Jack's, it makes them close and uncleav'ble as two sides of a shiny gold coin, closer, closer, close as they are now -- with Jack's mouth open wider'n wide, and Sparrow's wicked clever red tongue swirling round its whole circumference -- and Sparrow draws back to mutter, low and fierce, "o your mouth it ain't enough Jack, not tonight, tonight I'll make you mine," and Jack grins broad and sunny and bright and what's that, "you reckon there's any part of me that ain't already yours?" and SparrowJack sez, "Well, Jack, I wish there was, for then I'd claim it all and over 'gain," and Jack's all, "yours, all yours ... and you're mine, ain't that it?" and Sparrow's leaning in all witchy wicked dark and fulgent, wide black eyes and full red lips kiss-curved to make my Jack tremble an' sway, and says, "I'm yours, all right, and I look forward most immensely, Jack, to your claiming every inch of me, from here," his finger touches that soft swell of lip, and my Jack swells not soft at all, "to here," and now his finger's at the vee of his shirt, just where his heart beats scarlet in his breast, and I tremble to see it there within him, plain as day and twice as bright, and easy as pie to thieve away, to rip and rend and ravage in a reeking lair; yet my Jack's there, and his hand's spreading over Sparrow's, and he holds that heart safe even from the likes of I, a flitty haunt he'll never truly see, all sharksy teeth and needly claws; and that heart's safe that has my Jack's twined 'round it, so 'tis, and Sparrow's saying on, o what now, o, "and here," he says, and his left hand's all skittery down his shirt, and down down down, until it meets my Jack's atop that swelly heat that Jack's aroused in him, that's burnt in him since he stitched my darling's ear with gold all threaded through: each moment doing thus he thought to push some other thing into my Jack, and here's that thing now, all broad and hard and long and velvety to Jack-hands; my Jack's akneel, and he looks up at Sparrow, and again the eyebeams I can't cross, again the words that I can't hear, again the two of 'em, and I; and 'tain't fair, 'tain't fair, I skip and scuttle to my Jack's shoulder and cry it there, and cry too what he might do for sport, and see that wicked fire -- like to Jack Sparrow's but all blue and mazy and ripply-bright, not black and glowy like a secret coal -- a-sparking in his eye, and know he will; and, "Jack," he says, "I'm yours, I am; an' there's nothing, nothing at all I want more right now than to feel that other thing you said you had for me, to feel it deep and hard in me: but I can't, you well know, reciprocate as I'd best like, and I'm at a loss to know what else I might offer in return -- and, while we're at it, how I might place my mark on you as you've marked me;" and I can see those ideas dive all wrigglysquiggly like silvery tadpoles into JackSparrow's gleamy twisty mind, though there's scarce space enough for 'em 'twixt all the lust and love and need and want my Jack deserves and Sparrow serves to him; and Sparrow's mind's-eye conjures -- look look all flickery fabulous phantastickal! -- fifty filthy things that Jack might do to set his claim, as Jack Sparrow's claiming my Jack (pushed back on the bed, back on his back, laid out and craving, laughing and demanding) with his slippery hands and his slithery mouth -- Jack's mouth on him, he phant'sies; Jack's flexy fingers oily-roily inside him, and that broad hard Remnant pushing in there too; Jack's snaggleteeth all gentle on his skin -- o dearie me 'tis quite enough to make me faint so 'tis, and Sparrow too, who's desperate now with need of my love, and love of him, and need to press inside, o my darling's open wide above and below, his mouth all red and ready for Sparrowkiss, his arse all aching and easing for Sparrowcock, and the mad sparkling crimson rush in him as Jack Sparrow comes in, and Jack's ear burns with Sparrow's gold and the newness of that wound, and Jack's heart burns (and burns, and burns, and yet is not consumed) with Sparrow's love and the sureness of that: and Sparrow's skull's all full of JackJackJack, and yet that little writhy worm of how my Jack might mark and make him, that's still far for'ard in his mind e'en as he pierces and pushes and pricks, while he shimmers and shivers and sweats and sparks: and then as my Jack spills and empties and yet's still filled brimful, with Jack's name on his lips and the barest taste of it trickling free for me, Jack Sparrow hangs there deep and close 'bove him, and for one candent moment's motionless, and speaks solemn to my Jack, "Your mark's all through my heart, like dye in silk;" then while the fiery flood overwhelms him, I peek in, and see it surely sure; Jack Sparrow's heart is Shaftoe-hued.


End file.
